


Trouble

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:47:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21541711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Paul’s not a fan of sleeping alone anymore.
Relationships: Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets
Comments: 9
Kudos: 53





	Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Before Hugh, Paul _hated_ sharing a bed. 

It was awful when he was little, forced to bunk with a noisy sibling because their parents hadn’t yet figured out that Paul needed his own space to think. It didn’t get easier with roommates in Starfleet University that would come home drunk and stumble into the wrong bed. Boyfriends were the _worst_ , because they’d snore or kick or steal all the blankets, and nothing drives Paul crazy like waking up to find someone else’s drool on his pillow. 

Then Hugh came along and totally _broke_ him. Now he _can’t_ sleep alone. He stares through the dim blue light at the grey bulkhead all on his own, infinitely aware of all the space behind him. There’s not even that much of it. Starfleet doesn’t provide double beds on working spaceships, and he’s not a senior enough officer to warrant spacious quarters. The two of them each have one little bed on either side of the room, even though they’re a solid _unit_ that should have one big nice, comfy mattress to call their own.

Of course, then they wouldn’t be able to manage times like this where one or the other gets banished to the couch. Paul’s not even sure who stormed off alone first. His head’s a mess of bitter remnants of an argument—biting things that Hugh said and worse things that Paul said too but didn’t mean. He’s just been too touchy lately. And Hugh’s normally his rock—the calm, unwavering, grounding force he needs to stay _sane_ in a crazy universe. Except even Hugh has bad days, and sometimes it doesn’t work when they’re _both_ over-worked and over-stressed. In retrospect, Paul recognizes it was probably his fault. He’s the neurotic one. But Hugh raised his voice first. And now Hugh feels ridiculously far away, and Paul can’t even bring himself to roll over and _look_ , because Hugh will probably be facing away too, either blissfully sleeping or silently fuming. Paul’s not sure which would be worse. 

Paul knows his shift’s coming up in a few hours and he’s spent at least that long stewing, but sleep just isn’t happening. 

Then the mattress dips, and he’s suddenly glad his brain’s an overactive mess. He feels the blanket lift off him, and a familiar warmth slides in behind him, one arm reaching over his side. It curls around his body, hand gently resting against his chest. He can feel Hugh’s breath tickling the nape of his neck and Hugh’s strong thighs against the back of his legs. Hugh tenderly spoons him, and for a moment, Paul wonders if he should just pretend to be asleep and bask in that comfort he so desperately craved. 

But then his mouth opens and he whispers anyway, “I thought you didn’t want to sleep with me.”

Hugh sighs. Paul can feel it as much as hear it. When Hugh speaks, he’s just as hushed, as though it isn’t just the two of them in the quiet of their quarters. Hugh asks, “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” Paul doesn’t even hesitate. His hand shifts under the blanket, finding Hugh’s and closing around it, fingers locking through Hugh’s. He can’t help checking, “Is our fight over?” As though Hugh’s the gatekeeper of it and it’s all up to him.

Hugh pauses before he answers, “I don’t know.” Paul’s stomach sinks. “Do you still love your precious spores more than me?”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Mhm.”

He doesn’t even remember saying that, but he’s sure Hugh heard it, and Paul _knows_ he spends his time disproportionately. He knows he’s a mad scientist and difficult to be around, let alone _be with_. Hugh’s not an angel either, but at the moment, Paul’s not willing to risk saying that. He’s never going to start an argument so close to bedtime again. 

He slowly rolls over, fidgeting under the sheets to sidle up to Hugh. He needs to look into Hugh’s tired eyes when he says, “I’m sorry.”

Hugh breathes out. It tickles Paul’s chin. “I’m kind of sorry too. ...But I’m also still kind of annoyed with you.”

Paul understands. He might only be apologizing to keep Hugh in his bed, which is dastardly, but he’s desperate. Then Hugh’s gaze averts, and he mumbles, “But sleeping apart...” He doesn’t have to finish. Paul completely gets it. 

Paul offers, “Maybe that’s why they say never go to bed angry.”

Hugh nods against the pillow. He withdraws his hand from Paul’s middle, lifting it up to gently stroke Paul’s cheek instead. He shifts closer, pecking Paul lightly on the lips. Paul presses back but doesn’t deepen it. They’ve already brushed their teeth, but it’s probably been long enough that they’ll have bad breath again. Maybe now’s not the time to worry about that, but Paul does. 

Hugh rolls onto his other side. He reaches back to collect Paul’s arm and drape it over himself, curling it in, guiding Paul to spoon him properly. Paul shuffles up close and does, feeling infinitely better already. 

It’s not fixed. But he’s asleep in no time, dreaming of all the better times with Hugh.


End file.
